Dress Code
by thatceliachick
Summary: Flynn and Raydor check out each other's wardrobes, and more. Fluffy fluff.


_**I: Baby blue silk**_

"Hold the elevator, please," a woman called, and Andy Flynn hit the "open door" button automatically.

Sharon Raydor hurried in. "Thank you, lieutenant."

They smiled politely at each other, neither really meaning it.

She had just taken over Major Crimes. Flynn and the others had to stop thinking of her as the wicked witch from Internal Affairs who was bent on making their work lives miserable with all those regulations.

But here in the confines of the elevator, Raydor didn't look especially witchy. She looked a little flushed, actually, the way people tended to look when they were running late, he thought, checking her out discreetly. It wasn't hard. The door was mirrored, but she kept her eyes downcast, focused on the floor, and he was good at checking people out.

Especially women. He could watch women all day. And she was worth watching, he thought. But he maybe had a thing for women in designer suits and shoulder holsters.

They were stopping at every floor of the parking garage to let more people in. With each stop, she got pushed a little farther back, a little closer to him, until the elevator was packed and she was close enough for him to notice one strand of hair sticking out a little on the back of her head.

He liked it, actually, liked seeing that she wasn't always in complete control, even if it was just one strand rebelling a little.

And she smelled good, he realized, leaning just a little closer to try to get a better whiff. Her hair smelled of citrus and some kind of spice.

She kept her eyes down, and he wondered if the crowd bothered her, everybody all bunched up.

Probably violated a regulation somewhere for them to be packed together like this, he thought.

They were in the lobby now, following the herd to the next set of elevators that would take them to the squad room.

He followed along behind her, staying just close enough. Nice legs, he thought, and wondered again how the hell women cops managed to get anything done in heels. But it wasn't like she spent a lot of time chasing scumbags. That's what the rest of them were there for.

Another elevator ride and another whiff of the citrus and spice combination.

Not orange, he thought. Not lemon.

And she was wearing his favorite suit, the baby blue silk skirt suit. Just the right mix of feminine and professional, he thought. And the skirt was just short enough to show off her legs without showing too much.

Definitely a thing for women in suits.

Out of the elevator and into the corridor leading to the squad room. He could hear Provenza barking at Tao, hear phones ringing as they both fumbled for IDs to see who could swipe in first.

"Grapefruit."

He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until he saw her turn to look at him. "Excuse me, lieutenant?"

He was sure his ears were turning red. "Your shampoo," he managed. "I was trying to figure out what scent it was. Grapefruit."

She might be blushing, just a little, he thought. "Yes. And ginger." She smoothed her hair, a little self-conscious all of a sudden. The wicked witch, flustered by a compliment?

"It's nice," he said. "I like it."

"It's not too strong? I let my hair stylist talk me into it, then I wondered if it would be too strong for work."

"No, it's good. Smells better than anything else around here." He smiled at her, automatically flirting with her, because he automatically flirted with all women, and then she was definitely blushing. And somehow, he knew she wouldn't have been embarrassed if he'd complimented her suit.

The scent thing, that was different. More intimate, he thought, pleased to have rattled her even a little.

_**II: Gray-on-gray**_

She didn't recognize the tie.

Not that she had memorized his wardrobe, but after working with him every day for six months, Raydor had a pretty good idea of what Andy Flynn wore to work.

The gray-on-gray paisley silk number he wore today looked new.

She liked it. And she wondered who had picked it out for him. Definitely a woman.

He was in his own little world at the moment, staring at his shoes. She stood behind him in the garage elevator and studied his reflection in the mirrored doors. He had looked tired lately, and she wondered if something was wrong.

One of his kids, maybe.

They stopped at the main level and he looked up, finally, just before the doors open. He caught sight of her and smiled a little. "Captain," he said, and nodded.

She smiled back. "Morning, lieutenant. Back to the grind."

He didn't seem to want company and following along behind him would have been awkward, so she veered to the coffee stand in the lobby and let him walk on ahead.

She watched him stride toward the main elevators, a man absolutely at home in his surroundings.

The suit was nice, too.

_**III: Navy blue**_

At some point, Raydor hoped to be promoted to a level where paperwork only existed for the little people.

She just wasn't sure how to make that happen, short of actually assassinating someone. A dangerous thought, after the day Major Crimes had had.

She put the last stack of reports in an envelope and tossed the envelope into the interoffice mail tray. She'd already e-mailed copies of everything to her superiors.

She sighed and headed for the exit.

"Hold the elevator!"

Someone else was working late, she thought, stepping back to let Andy Flynn on.

"Good work today, lieutenant," she said.

And it had been. They'd closed a triple homicide and handed the feds a nice package of intel on a new gun-running operation.

"Thanks," he said. She was wearing the navy blue pantsuit, his second favorite. "And thanks for running interference with that prick from ATF."

"Since you brought it up, the chief wants us to play nice with our colleagues from other law enforcement agencies," she said. "Even if they are pricks."

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am." He pretended to think for a minute. "What about pricks inside the LAPD?"

"I think those are called staff meetings, Andy."

It was the first time she'd called him by his first name, and the world didn't seem to be coming to an end. And at some point, she'd stopped being all bullet-proof sarcasm and turned into a real person, Flynn realized.

This could be dangerous, he thought.

He walked her to her car, even after she pointed out that she was well-armed as he was. "And I'm a better shot," she said.

"And more competitive," he said. Her rare laughter made his heart skip a beat.

Safe was overrated, he decided, waiting until she got in the car and started the engine. "Be careful getting home, Captain. See you tomorrow."

Walking to his own car, he wondered what she would do if he called her Sharon.

_**IV: Kevlar blue**_

She wasn't actually shot, Raydor reminded herself. The Kevlar vest had done its job, and stopped the three slugs the scumbag du jour had fired at her from penetrating her vest.

Which was good, because otherwise she couldn't have called for help, or given her colleagues any information on where to find her or the aforementioned scumbag.

But, damn, it hurt. She was flat on her back, staring up at the abandoned warehouse's ceiling. She had just put out the "officer down" call, and the sirens had started wailing in the distance before she'd even hung up.

The cement floor was cold, which was good because it took some of her attention away from the pain, and bad, because it was, well, cold. She hated being cold almost as much as she hated being shot.

Maybe if she sat up. She counted to ten, tried to rise and almost cried out at the searing wave of pain that sliced through her. Something was broken in there. And for the first time, she wondered if the impact of the shots might have caused internal bleeding.

"Captain?"

"Over here," she managed.

And a minute later, Andy Flynn appeared.

"Jesus!" He knelt beside her, automatically noting the grapefruit scent of her shampoo. "How bad?"

"The vest held," she said. "But I think I might have a broken rib."

"Where's Franklin?"

The scumbag. "He ran out the back. It looked like he went north in the alley."

He unfastened her Kevlar vest and looked for blood, even unbuttoning her suit jacket. Nothing visible, but that didn't mean she didn't have internal injuries.

Raydor closed her eyes as he got on the radio and shouted at the dispatcher to tell the goddamned paramedics to hurry the hell up.

"How you doing?" He knelt at her side, his hand resting right beside hers.

"I'm cold," she said, which was not at all what she meant to say.

He took her hand, and she was suddenly much warmer.

"Hang in there," Flynn said, and his voice made her warmer still.

The sirens were much louder now, and she could hear people – lots of people – running toward them.

Flynn lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and in her head, she started listing all of the regs they could potentially violate.

"You're going through the rule book page by page right now, aren't you?" he asked, and she grinned when he kissed her hand again.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts too much."

"Laughter isn't really the response I'm hoping for," he said. Definitely flirting. He was wearing the tie she liked, the gray paisley, she realized. And her favorite suit, the charcoal gray wool.

"Did you get a new tie?" Was she flirting back? She could always blame it on shock, she decided.

"Yeah. My sister – the younger one – gave it to me. Said I could use a makeover." He shook his head. "She's big on lost causes."

His sister picked it out? Definitely her favorite, Raydor decided.

The paramedics were there, just appearing magically, along with about half of the LAPD.

"Franklin's in custody," Tao said, suddenly at her side as the paramedics fussed over her. "SID's on their way to process this scene. How you doing, Captain?"

Provenza, Sanchez and Sykes were there, too, as she was lifted into the ambulance. No one seemed to notice that Flynn was still holding her hand as he climbed in with her.

_**V: Lavender lace**_

She was wearing his favorite suit, Flynn noted, watching her watch Sanchez outline the GPS entries on their current victim's vehicle, then compare them with the entries made the same night by their main suspect.

He'd suggested it that morning as she'd stared into her walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear. He'd also suggested the cream silk camisole, and the lavender lace bra and panty set she wore under it all.

She'd picked the shoes out herself.

To be fair, she'd bought him the red foulard tie and the blue silk boxers he was wearing.

They were being very discreet, he told himself. But he was pretty sure Tao knew. And Sanchez, maybe. The guy saw everything.

Sanchez was finished talking and everyone was looking at him expectantly. He quickly started reading off the information on their victim's finances, and a mysterious $25,000 deposit made to the suspect's savings account.

Provenza was watching him curiously. Finally, when Flynn finished his report, the crusty old detective spoke up.

"Flynn, is that a new tie?"


End file.
